Friday
by TheDears
Summary: "The things we saw I can't even tell to my family pictures." Drabbles of Cybil x Harry.- Can be read in any order, chapters are not always chronological.
1. First Friday of October

**Notes: Why? Because I totally have always wanted to morph Cybil's personality into a raging alcoholic...**

**I am so, so, sorry.**

**Warnings: Hints of sexuality, kind of AU, and major OCCness. **

* * *

It was actually kind of funny in a way.

Her breaking drunkenly into his apartment room (She had a strong tendency to lock herself out of her place when drunk.) and passing out on his living-room couch had become almost a routine of Friday nights. It even made him worry less knowing she wasn't running around town intoxicated without supervision.

Also, her antics went far beyond amusing when she was caught trying to get into the apartment unnoticed.

He would gaze at her with his usual skeptical expression, arms folded and brows raised leaning against the kitchen table.

She would pause for a moment, her usual quick wit slowed dramatically by the alcohol. She would then try to convince him that she wasn't drunk, the "I just had a couple of drinks…" line would come up and he would laugh shaking his head and just lead her over to the couch.

Hearing a police officer say that line was just beyond irony. It was ridiculous.

The next morning she would awake early, go through his medicine cabinet (She had finally admitted to doing that after he questioned her several times about his sudden lack of aspirin), and struggle to make breakfast for him as an apology for showing up drunk off her ass in his kitchen.

This usually didn't turn out so well considering the only edible things she could make was burnt toast, coffee, and scrambled eggs. She tried making him bacon once and had almost set the stove on fire. She joked saying she had skipped the cooking classes in middle school.

He tried to deny the fact that he was attracted to her though, or at least try to hide it.

He wasn't very good at doing either. He would find himself staring on so many occasions that it sort of unnerved him. He wasn't a very sex-oriented guy at all, but sometimes he would find himself staring at her while she slept on the couch and...

Well...

He never acted on those impulses though.

After he ate she would smile, thank him once more, say goodbye, and leave for work.

Heather would come home around 10:00 am from her usual Friday night sleepovers and ask how his night had been.

"Same as usual."

And then next week it would just start all over again.


	2. Good Friday, bad friday

Cybil had grown her hair out, the ends of her blonde locks resting on the curve of her chest. She looked slightly older than before, but her pale skin and green eyes were exactly the same as when he had first met her. Her eyes were the same even when they were puffy and red, glossed over from another binge.

He didn't know why she drank as much as she did and he never asked. Harry figured it was either the stress of her job, or a way of coping with what happened fifteen years ago. Perhaps it was both.

[he later decided it was indeed both.]

She intrigued him and intimidated him all at once.

She made him smile with her quick wit and jokes, but she also made him want to cry.

He wanted to cry when Cybil, who was supposed to be so strong, was hunched in-between the small space of his refrigerator and the wall shaking and sobbing.

[he saw himself in this, he saw his daughter in this…]

Nightmares and panic attacks were a bitch of a thing; but a common side effect among them.


	3. Last Friday

Considering alcohol's amazing ability to render him into a partial amnesiac-like state, Harry was surprised that he could recall that one drunken night so clearly. Last Friday had been exhilarating, freeing and yet, so utterly terrifying. Clumsy fumbles, heaving breaths that filled the bedroom with the sharp odor of vodka, and for the first time in a long while, a small, yet warm body against his for the night.

The mechanics of what they had done were hazy and relaxed, despite his overwhelming desire and the unbearable tension that had been building up slowly over the years. That warm, soft body that kept him company for the night, came alive again early that morning; although that beautiful head of hers was in an obvious state of disorientation and possibily- discomfort, she had smiled and her arm, reached over ever so slightly, and patted his head affectionately with her small hand.

The situation had started off so simply - Cybil and her warm, soft body had come over to his cramped apartment and together they shared a few drinks and together, yet he couldn't quite remember _how_, they ended up in his bed.

Currently, Harry was sitting in his modestly decorated livingroom; he could hear Heather studying in the next room for her upcoming exams. Smiling to himself, he glanced down at his cellphone, something he did every twenty minutes or so - perhaps it was a habit he picked up from being such a paranoid mess for the past sixteen years.

_One missed call._

Leaning down to pick up the phone, he flipped it open to find out who had called - even though he already had a good idea of who it was. Pausing for a moment he couldn't help but wonder -  
Did she regret it?


	4. Coping on a Thursday

"I _never_ want to talk about what happened."

Harry didn't had to ask Cybil what she meant by that. For months after the incident she would call him, her breath quick and ragged from a nightmare she had awoken from just moments before her trembling hands dialed his number. "Am I going crazy? I am _so, so _scared. When will this stop?" Harry glanced across the bedroom where his baby daughter slept soundly in her crib, he would silently thank god that if everything went as planned, Heather would never have to deal with such awful dreams. _(Cybil would snap his neck if he ever mentioned that the majority of their conversations in those first few months contained uncontrollable sobbing - on both their parts.)_

During that year, Cybil had manged to visit his apartment on a few occasions. She would walk in without knocking, smelling of sweet perfume and cigarette smoke; for some reason the scent always put him at ease, he had told her this once and she must of liked it as she had thrown her head back and laughed.

They often ended up in the kitchen or on the couch in the living-room, joking halfheartedly and discussing pointless things. Although sometimes they would speak of politics, classic literature and most often psychology. Studying psychology seemed to bring Cybil some peace; she had told him it was the only way she could truly begin to understand why she was feeling the way she was, trauma and such were obvious causes but specifics helped. _(She confided to him once that she had begun to experience frequent panic attacks; she was considering medication.)_

Whenever Harry would pick up Heather for a bottle or diaper change Cybil would visibly flinch and begin to tense up. "...Are you scared of her?" She would look down at the infant and then back up at Harry, silent for a moment as if she wasn't sure herself; she would chuckle softly and shake her head "I just don't like kids very much." As Harry rocked his daughter in his arms, trying to sooth the child back to sleep, he resisted the urge to tell Cybil that she was a terrible liar; she was _terrified_ of his daughter.

Things would often become somewhat intense between him and the blonde, it wasn't uncommon for them to end up in some odd corner of the apartment, her lips hard against his, both their hands trying desperately to undo straps, belts and buttons. The act itself was almost always hard, rough and fast. It wasn't about intimacy, it was desperate attempts to feel something, anything and maybe claw their way into some sort of normality and sometimes - it was just for the hell of it.

Was this their way of coping?


	5. Sick Part 1

**I have risen from the dead!  
Sick on Monday, in which Cybil drives Heather home from school.  
**

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Knuckles bone white upon the steering wheel, she sighs nervously and tries to breathe slowly. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. They're stopped at a red light and Cybil takes the opportunity to glance in her rear view mirror. "You ok, kid?" There is nothing but silence at first, the blonde in the backseat is resting her head against the door frame trying, although failing, to sleep through the ride home.

Heather lifts her head up for a moment, glancing cautiously at her driver. If this woman was such good friends with her father, why the hell had she never heard of her? Feeling the car starting to roll forward she sighed, "I'm fine, thanks." Cybil is silent for a moment, putting on the car's blinker and waiting for traffic to slow to allow her to take the turn. She chuckled, finally overcoming the panic she had felt for the past 45 minutes. "You aren't very convincing, you know that?"

Heather fidgeted with her seat belt for a moment before looking at the older woman, "Oh, and here I thought I was doing so well." feigning disappointment the teenager rolled her eyes, "I don't think I need to convince you of anything and- the light is red, the light is red! ... You just ran a red light you know." Cybil smirked, "Oh no," she said dramatically, "I will surely get 25 years to life for this crime! My life is over!"

Heather is silent in the back seat, obviously not impressed by Cybil's bravado. "You should act your age..."

"I could say the same to you."

There is nothing but silence for the next few minutes, only the sound of the windshield wipers against the glass and the car's blinker. The air in the car is tense and hot as Heather looks down at her feet. The carpet of the car is relatively clean, but empty liquor store bags are scattered around, a few scratch tickets were thrown in the back along with an empty pack or two of cigarettes. The seat next to Heather consists of huge notebooks stacked neatly upon each other, almost reaching to the ceiling of the car.

"They're for work." Heather is startled slightly, catching Cybil's eye in the rear-view mirror. "What do you do for work anyway?" Heather is cut off by a quick laugh, "People get freaked out when I tell them. Homicide investigator."

"...Oh. Sounds fun. I'd much rather work with dead people then those who are alive." Another laugh, this time a bit louder rings throughout the automobile. "You are just as anti-social as your father, you know that?" There is a pause from the investigator before she continues, "it's not a bad thing though, personally I find it to be an endearing trait."

Heather shifts her weight trying to get comfortable, a smirk starting to display across her face. She almost speaks, but is distracted by the falling rain outside. "I think it's going to stop raining soon..." Cybil mumbles, as if she knows what the teenage girl is thinking. "How long have you known my dad?"

Cybil sighs and responds without thinking. "Um, before you were born actually."

"Did you know my mom?"

Cybil's mouth drops open slightly, seemingly shocked. Heather continues to prod, "Well, did you?"

"Uh... Well, sort of. I do know, that when you were born, that your mother wanted you to have a better life than she did. She was young and pretty with long black hair. But that's... that's all I know really. Your father doesn't talk about her much to me."

The woman was not about to tell Heather how young her mother had really been, or that the day she was born was the worst day of her and Harry's life. She was not going to tell the girl how she fed and took care of her during the week they got out of that awful town. Harry, overcome with grief could not bring himself to pick his 'new daughter' up for days. She would never tell.

Luckily, Heather seemed satisfied with Cybil's cover story and settled back down into her seat. "Oh! I see our apartment." "See? I promised I wouldn't kidnap and kill you." Heather rolled her eyes again but couldn't hide a slight smile at her remark. Maybe this lady wasn't so bad after all.


	6. I'm Sorry

**Oh dear god, that last chapter was shit. I'm a bit rusty, so bear with me people. I'm probably going to clean up chapter five soon...**

**Remember, these drabbles don't always go in order, chapter six will not be a continuation of five although I plan to have a part two to it ready eventually.**

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**From:** Harry M.  
**To:** Cybil Bennett  
Sent 6/9/03. 3:32 am

**Subject: Miss hearing from you.**

I haven't heard from you in awhile. How are you doing? Heather is turning 5 next week. She's doing really well and is excited to start kindergarten in the fall. I hope her enthusiasm for school stays the way it is, but I know eventually I'm going to have to fight her tooth and nail just to get her out of bed. I suppose I might as well savor it while it lasts.

Are you still not sleeping well? Because I'm sure not...

**From:** Cybil Bennett  
**To:** Harry M.  
Sent 6/12/03. 11:11 am

**Subject: RE: Miss hearing from you.**

Five? Jesus, time flies, eh? I don't envy you in regards to you having to be a human alarm clock in the near future. What does the kid like? I'll have to send her a gift. I'm OK and no, no rest for the wicked right? I keep falling asleep at work actually, I think my supervisor thinks I'm popping barbiturates on the job.

**From:** Harry M.  
**To:** Cybil Bennett  
Sent 6/12/03. 11:46 am

**Subject: RE: Miss hearing from you.**

Barbiturates? Don't feel obligated to send Heather a birthday present, although I know you'll do it not matter what I say. She likes to draw a lot, some days it's all she does. It reminds me of Cheryl...

**From:** Cybil Bennett  
**To:** Harry M.  
Sent 6/12/03. 11:58 am

**Subject: RE: Miss hearing from you.**

Barbiturates are pills and they're central nervous system depressants. They tend to have a very sedating effect. It was a joke, hah.

I don't want to sound like a bitch, but I really don't want to talk about your last sentence there. It may seem insensitive but I just want to forget and pretend the whole thing never happened. I know you can't do the same, and I feel awful because I know I'm the only one that you can actually talk to about the... incident, but emotionally I just can't handle it. The things we saw I can't even tell to my family pictures.

I'm sorry Harry.

**From:** Harry M.  
**To:** Cybil Bennett  
Sent 6/14/03. 3:45 am

**Subject: RE: Miss hearing from you.**

It's OK... I understand. If I were you I'd want to do the same. Don't beat yourself over it.

**From:** Cybil Bennett  
**To:** Harry M.  
Sent 6/14/03. 12:34 pm

**Subject: RE: Miss hearing from you.**

I got the best colored pencils and crayons I could find. You should get the package within two days or so.  
Again Harry, I'm sorry.


End file.
